Archive of Our Own ^beta

The warehouse stinks of damp moss and chemicals. Jason swings low, his grappling hook snagging the crisscross of steel beams overhead. Below him, Roy’s arrows cut through the air, their sharp whistle drowned out by the hiss of vines slithering across the concrete floor.

“Babe, you’re crowding me,” Roy yells, a smirk audible in his voice as he fires another shot.

Jason groans. “No babe in the field, Arse.” He lands hard on the second-floor catwalk, pistols already aimed at the writhing green mass below. Poison Ivy stands in the center of her floral kingdom, her eyes gleaming with malice. Christmas lights flicker erratically, tangled in the monstrous poinsettias that frame her like a grotesque holiday wreath.

“You’re ruining the spirit of the season,” Ivy sneers, her voice silky and cold. She waves a hand, and a fresh wave of thorny vines surges forward. “Don’t you love the holidays? Such a wonderful time for the wealthy to flaunt their excess. Let me give you a gift—a world without their greed.”

Roy’s voice crackles through Jason’s comm. “You know, she’s not wrong.”

“Not the time, we know your daddy's a communist” Jason snaps, unloading a round into the nearest vine. It recoils, splattering sap across the floor. He grimaces. The stuff smells worse than it looks.

Roy’s boots hit the ground with a solid thud as he rolls out of the way of a snapping tendril. He’s grinning, of course. The idiot thrives on this chaos.

“I’m just saying,” Roy says, loosing an incendiary arrow into the heart of a towering poinsettia. The explosion sends petals raining down like grotesque confetti. “‘What’s a few dead billionaires for the holidays?’ She’s got a point.”

Jason grits his teeth. He’s not about to argue with Ivy’s take on capitalism—he’s got more pressing concerns. Like the way her plants keep regenerating no matter how many he cuts down. Or the fact that she’s moving toward the far wall, where a half-dozen terrified factory workers are bound in vines.

“Focus, Arsenal,” Jason growls. He fires again, this time aiming for Ivy herself. She ducks, her movements almost serpentine.

“Tsk, tsk,” she says, blowing him a kiss. “You’ll have to try harder than that, little bat.”

Jason doesn’t dignify the taunt with a response. He’s too busy dodging a cascade of thorny vines that crash through the catwalk, sending shrapnel and debris flying. He leaps to the ground, landing in a crouch beside Roy.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Roy says, not even bothering to hide his grin.

“Shut up and cover me,” Jason snaps, switching to his taser rounds. They’re not as satisfying as bullets, but they’re effective against Ivy’s creations. He fires off a rapid volley, the crackle of electricity lighting up the room. The vines convulse, curling in on themselves like wounded animals.

Roy takes the opportunity to move in, his bow a blur as he picks off the remaining threats. They’re a good team, despite—or maybe because of—the constant bickering.

“You can’t stop me,” Ivy declares, her voice rising above the din. “You think you’re heroes, but you’re just pawns of a corrupt system. These men—these parasites—they’re killing the planet. I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jason mutters, advancing on her. “Because mass murder is totally the answer.”

Before he can close the distance, Ivy spins, releasing a cloud of shimmering powder from her hands. Jason barely has time to react. He raises an arm to shield himself, but the dust settles on his skin, a faint, glittering sheen.

“What the hell was that?” Roy demands, his voice sharp.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Jason replies, shaking off the strange sensation. He’s already moving, closing the gap between himself and Ivy.

“You’ll regret that,” she hisses, but her bravado falters when Roy’s arrow pins her arm to the wall. Jason doesn’t waste the opening. He’s on her in an instant, slapping a pair of electronic cuffs around her wrists.

“Happy holidays,” he mutters, dragging her toward the center of the room.

By the time the GCPD arrives, the warehouse is quiet, save for the faint jangle of Christmas music playing on a busted radio in the corner. Jason watches from the nearby rooftop, the cops swarm the scene, his expression sour under his mask.

“Always late to the party,” he mutters.

Roy nudges him with an elbow. “At least they’re here to clean up the mess. You’ve got…” He pauses, squinting at Jason. “What is that all over you?”

Jason glances down. The glittery residue from Ivy’s powder clings to his jacket, gloves, and the thin sliver of skin where his jacket collar end. He shrugs. “Just some of her plant crap. I’m fine.”

Roy’s brow furrows. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, 's just gunk,” Jason snaps, brushing past him. “Let’s get out of here.”

Roy watches him go, his concern evident. “Fine,” he mutters, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “But we're hosing you down outside first."

–

The apartment smells faintly of cedar and gun oil, the lingering traces of last night's dinner plates still in the sink mingling with the comforting scent of worn leather and fabric softener. Jason slams the door shut behind him, his boots clunking against the tile of the entryway before he kicks them off with a grunt. Water still beads on his skin, remnants of the thorough hosing-down Roy insisted on in the garage. His compression shirt clings to his chest, damp and snug, and the dark fabric of his pants is streaked with faint water lines. His hair’s a mess, plastered to his forehead, the white patch sticking to his forehead like a soggy skunk

“Seriously, Harper,” Jason grouses, stalking into the living room. “You trying to roast me alive? The heat’s cranked up so high, I’m sweating already.” He flops onto the couch, sprawling out like a cat seeking the cool side of the cushion. His shirt rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of taut, pale skin above the waistband of his pants.

Roy leans against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea in his hand, his bow leaning against the wall nearby. He’s still in his field gear, though he’s ditched the quiver and gloves. The red and black suit clings to him in all the right places, and Jason catches himself staring a moment too long at the way Roy’s biceps flex as he takes a sip.

The apartment is small but cozy, packed with evidence of their shared lives. The walls are lined with mismatched shelves, crammed with books—Jason’s taste in classic literature battling for space with Roy’s well-thumbed thrillers and comics. A tangle of Lian’s toys spills out of a wicker basket near the couch, and a half-assembled LEGO set sits on the coffee table. The tree in the corner is artificial, strung with mismatched ornaments—hand-painted crafts from Lian, vintage baubles Roy had salvaged from his childhood, and one or two tasteful glass pieces Jason grudgingly admitted looked nice. Lian’s absence is keenly felt; she’s in Star City with her grandfather. Dinah had taken her back with her after a brief visit to Gotham last week so they could spend time together and do Christmas activities. Jason and Roy are set to join them for Christmas Eve in a few days.

“Take a shower,” Roy says, his voice low and warm, but with a teasing edge. He sets his mug down and crosses his arms, leaning one hip against the counter. “You smell like wet dog and whatever the hell Ivy sprayed on you. It’s not a good combo, babe.”

Jason groans, letting his head loll back against the couch. “Alright babe.” His eyes flicker to Roy, catching the playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I already got hosed off. What more do you want from me?”

“A lot more than you’re offering right now,” Roy shoots back, pushing off the counter. He moves to the couch, standing over Jason with an exaggerated look of disapproval. His hair’s a wild mess, and the freckles on his nose and cheeks are more pronounced under the warm lighting of the apartment. “You’ve got grime in places I don’t even want to think about. Go clean up properly.”

Jason tilts his head, his lips quirking in a sly grin. “You volunteering to help?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Roy murmurs, his voice dropping. His eyes skim over Jason, lingering just a second too long on the exposed strip of skin at his waist. Jason feels his cheeks heat, though he blames the overactive thermostat.

“Fine,” Jason mutters, pushing himself up from the couch with an exaggerated sigh. His muscles protest—a dull ache settling in from the night’s fight—but he ignores it. He brushes past Roy on his way to the hallway, their shoulders bumping, and he catches the faint scent of Roy’s soap and sweat.

“Don’t take forever,” Roy calls after him, leaning down to pluck a stray piece of glittering residue off the couch cushion. His tone is light, teasing, but his brows knit together as he studies the speck of pollen clinging to his fingers.

Jason’s voice drifts back from the bathroom. “Not like I’m planning a spa day, Harper. Keep your pants on.”

Roy chuckles, but his gaze lingers on the pollen, unease tugging at the edges of his smirk. He flicks the glittery residue into the trash, shakes his head, and settles onto the couch to wait. He doesn’t see the way Jason pauses in the doorway to glance back at him, lips quirking into a soft, almost imperceptible smile.

Jason peels off the compression shirt, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin. He curses under his breath as he wrestles it over his head, tossing it onto the bathroom floor. The pants follow, heavy and cold from the garage hose-down, landing with a wet slap that he pointedly ignores. He steps into the shower and twists the knob all the way to hot, waiting for the water to steam before stepping under the spray.

At first, it’s perfect—scalding hot, the kind of heat that works its way into sore muscles and aches. He tilts his head back, letting the water beat against his shoulders, his neck. A satisfied groan slips out before he can stop it, and Jason allows himself to relax, bracing a forearm against the tiled wall. The fight’s grime and tension start to rinse away, swirling down the drain.

But then something shifts.

The water doesn’t just feel nice—it feels amazing. It’s like every droplet carries a tiny electric charge, sparking against his skin and sending tingling warmth radiating outward. His breath hitches as the sensation spreads, crawling down his spine and pooling low in his abdomen. He presses his hand to the wall for balance, his other curling into a fist at his side as he fights the urge to shudder.

What the hell?

Jason shakes his head, blinking through the steam, but the haze isn’t just from the water anymore. His skin feels hypersensitive, alive. When he runs a hand through his wet hair, it’s like the simple touch is amplified a hundredfold, every nerve ending singing in response. He’s burning now, a flush rising across his chest, his neck, his cheeks. The heat isn’t from the water, not entirely—it’s something else, something coursing through him, and oh, shit.

Ivy.

Jason groans, slapping a palm against the shower wall. “Of course it’s sex pollen,” he mutters, his voice rough and tinged with frustration. “Because why wouldn’t it be sex pollen?”

He scrubs at his chest, his arms, his neck, trying to wash the sensation away. The soap foams under his hands, slick and sudsy, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse. His touch feels too good—his own hands too firm, too insistent—and the combination of heat and friction is driving him mad. The water pelting his back is a cruel mimicry of relief, teasing and relentless, and his heart is pounding now, too fast and too loud in his ears.

“Stupid,” he snaps at himself, scrubbing harder, as though he can physically strip the pollen from his skin. “Fucking stupid. Should’ve known better. Should’ve—” The words dissolve into a sharp exhale as he presses his forehead to the cool tile, his chest heaving.

The heat in his veins is unbearable, a molten pulse that twists low in his stomach and spreads like wildfire. He digs his nails into his palms to focus, but even that feels good, the sharp bite startling him in a way that only fans the flames. Every movement, every brush of his own skin feels magnified, electric, like he’s been drugged with liquid fire and every nerve is demanding attention.

“Shit,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. He can feel the flush deepening, spreading over his entire body. His pulse is a drumbeat, insistent and primal, and he can’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tries. He presses his hand flat against his chest, as if he can will his racing heart to calm down, but the contact only sends another shiver skittering down his spine.

This is bad. Really bad.

Jason turns the water as hot as it will go, hoping to drown out the insistent thrumming in his body with sheer sensory overload. But it’s a mistake. The steam curls around him, the heat enveloping him completely, and it feels too good—like he’s sinking into something he can’t claw his way out of. He bites down on a groan, his hand sliding down to brace against his stomach. The water streams over him, each rivulet a trail of fire, and—God, it’s too much.

“Get it together, Todd,” he growls, his voice strained. But his body isn’t listening, not anymore. The combination of heat, water, and Ivy’s damned pollen is a cocktail of pure, unrelenting need, and it’s coursing through him like a second heartbeat that he feels in every throb of his achingly hard dick. He’s lightheaded now, dizzy with it, and his skin feels too tight, too hot, like he’s going to burn from the inside out.

Jason grips the edge of the shower wall, panting, his knuckles white. He’s caught between the desperate need to do something and the equally desperate need to not. But the way his body is reacting—the way his thoughts are slipping, unraveling—he knows it’s only going to get worse.

He curses again, low and sharp, because of course this would happen. Of course Ivy wouldn’t settle for just any fuckery. Of course it would be something that turns his own body into an enemy. And of course he’s stuck dealing with it alone.

Oh, wait.

He’s not alone.

Oh. Well. Nothing for it.

Jason’s lips part, and before he can stop himself, he calls out. “Hey, babe?”

There’s a pause, and then Roy’s voice drifts through the bathroom door, amused and a little skeptical. “Yeah?”

Jason exhales shakily, dragging a hand through his wet hair. His chest is heaving, his skin on fire, and the thought of being alone with this—alone with himself—is unbearable. He doesn’t overthink it. “Can you—uh—can you come in here?”

There’s the creak of a chair, followed by the soft thud of Roy’s footsteps against the floor. “You okay?” Roy’s voice is closer now, more serious, though the teasing lilt hasn’t entirely disappeared. “What’s up?”

Jason forces himself to look up, blinking through the haze of steam as Roy cracks the bathroom door open. Roy leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression half-curious, half-concerned. His hair’s still a mess from earlier, and Jason’s chest tightens at the sight.

“So, you know that glittery shit Ivy gave me as a Chrismahanukwanzakah present?” Jason asks, trying for casual, though his voice comes out rougher than he intended.

Roy quirks a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Sex pollen?”

Jason makes a soft noise under the water—something between a groan and a whimper. He presses a hand to his face, letting the hot spray cascade over his shoulders. “…Sex pollen.”

Roy snorts, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the bathroom. The sound of his boots against the tile sends a weirdly pleasant shiver down Jason’s spine. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Roy says, though there’s something almost fond in his tone. “You’re telling me you let Ivy hit you with that?”

“I didn’t let her,” Jason snaps, his voice muffled behind his hand. His pulse is racing now, the heat in his veins intensifying with every second Roy spends in the room. “I just—fuck—I didn’t realize what it was. It’s never been glittery! I thought I was fine until—” He gestures vaguely at himself, at the way his body is practically vibrating with overstimulated energy. The way his dick pulses precome in time to his heartbeat as he looks at Roy.

Roy stops just outside the shower, his arms still crossed, his smirk fading into something softer. “Wanna hand?”

Jason lifts his head, meeting Roy’s gaze through the steam. His throat feels tight, his body heavy with want, and the look on Roy’s face—half-concern, half-something else—only makes it worse. Jason swallows hard, his voice low and hoarse when he speaks.

“…Yeah.”

Roy doesn’t hesitate. The second Jason says yeah, something shifts. His smirk vanishes, replaced by an intensity that steals Jason’s breath, and then—holy shit—Roy is moving.

It’s almost comical how fast he strips. His shirt flies over his head, landing who knows where, and he yanks his boots off so forcefully that one knocks over the trash can with a metallic clang. Jason barely registers the chaos, too busy staring as Roy’s fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, shoving them down in one swift motion. Everything about him is uncoordinated and messy and perfectly Roy, and Jason can’t tear his eyes away as Roy fumbles with his jockstrap and cup and oh god there’s Roy’s cock.

“Careful,” Jason starts, but before he can finish the sentence, Roy all but flings himself into the shower. The curtain rattles dangerously, and Jason stumbles backward, barely catching himself with a hand against the slick tile.

“Shit—” Roy’s hands are on him in an instant, steadying him, gripping his shoulders with that archer’s strength. “Got you, baby.” Roy murmurs, and his voice is so soft, so steady, it sends a shiver down Jason’s spine. The heat in the shower is suffocating now, the steam curling around them, the water pelting their skin. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but Roy is here, and suddenly it’s perfect.

Jason tilts his head up, and before he can think, before he can say anything, Roy kisses him.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a collision, all heat and hunger, their mouths slanting together in a way that steals every coherent thought Jason has left– which is not many. Roy’s lips are soft but insistent, moving against his with a rhythm that makes Jason’s knees go weak. His hand slides up to cup Jason’s jaw, his thumb brushing along the edge of his cheekbone, and the gentleness of it is such a stark contrast to the ferocity of the kiss that Jason feels like he might come apart.

The pollen amplifies everything. The slide of Roy’s mouth, the scrape of stubble against Jason’s chin, the way Roy’s other hand splays across his back, pulling him closer—it’s overwhelming. Jason makes a noise he’s never heard himself make before, a low, desperate sound that’s swallowed by Roy’s lips. His hands find Roy’s waist, fingers digging into warm, damp skin, and Roy responds by pressing closer, his body solid and unyielding against Jason’s.

The water cascades over them, soaking Roy’s hair and plastering it to his forehead. Jason reaches up, his fingers tangling in the wet strands, and Roy groans into his mouth, the sound reverberating through Jason’s chest. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life, and it only escalates.

Roy’s hands are everywhere—skimming Jason’s sides, sliding up his spine, curling around the nape of his neck. Every touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, and Jason feels like his body is lighting up from the inside out. He pulls Roy closer, their chests pressed together, their breaths coming fast and ragged between kisses. The heat between them is unbearable, their movements frantic, almost clumsy, and Jason doesn’t care. He can’t get enough.

“Jason,” Roy breathes against his lips, his voice low and rough. His hands tighten on Jason’s waist, his thumbs brushing against bare skin, and Jason shudders, his head falling back against the tile.

“Fuck, Roy,” Jason manages, his voice wrecked. The water beats against his skin, but it’s Roy’s touch that’s drowning him, Roy’s lips, Roy’s everything. Jason’s entire body feels alive, attuned to every brush of Roy’s hands, every shift of his weight. The pollen might have started this, but now it’s just them, and Jason is helpless against the tide of it.

Roy’s mouth finds his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and Jason gasps, his hands fisting in Roy’s hair as he feels Roy bite down. The press of Roy’s body, the warmth of his skin, the insistent slide of his lips—it’s everything Jason didn’t know he needed so badly, and he’s spiraling, falling, completely undone.

“Shit, Jason,” Roy murmurs, his breath hot against Jason’s ear. “You feel so—” He cuts himself off with another kiss, deeper this time, and Jason clings to him, his body arching into every touch.

Jason feels like he’s unraveling, each touch and whisper of Roy’s presence pulling another thread loose until all that’s left is raw, desperate sensation. The water streams over him, forgotten, the heat building inside him far more intense than anything the shower could produce. His legs feel unsteady, his chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. His mind is fogging over, every coherent thought drowned out by a single refrain: Roy, Roy, Roy.

He whines, a high, needy sound that he barely recognizes as his own. It slips out involuntarily, pulled from the depths of his chest, and it’s so open, so wrecked, that it makes Roy pause. Jason blinks up at him, pupils blown wide until the hazel of his irises is just a thin, trembling ring around endless black. His whole body is trembling, caught in some terrible, exquisite limbo, and he’s never needed anything so much in his life.

“Hey, hey,” Roy murmurs, his voice low and even, a warm anchor in Jason’s storm. “I got you, baby. Just breathe for me, alright? Deep breath.” His hands slide up Jason’s arms, steadying him, grounding him, and the touch alone sends another wave of heat crashing through Jason’s body. “You’re so good for me. Doin’ great.”

Jason whimpers, his head tipping back against the wall. He’s shaking now, his hands clutching at Roy’s shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping him upright. And maybe they are. Everything feels too much and not nearly enough, nowhere near enough, and when Roy’s hands leave his arms to trail down his chest, Jason sways forward, helpless to the pull of him, turning to him like a flower to the sun.

“Sweetness,” Roy says, the word rolling off his tongue like honey, thick and soothing. His palms are broad and warm, moving in slow, deliberate strokes down Jason’s chest, over the defined muscles, brushing against the sensitive skin along his ribs, across every scar he has mapped to memory. Each touch is a deliberate tease, coaxing Jason further under, and Jason can’t stop the soft, desperate noises spilling from his lips. “You’re gonna be fine. I got you.”

Jason’s breathing hitches when Roy’s hands move lower, skimming down his stomach. He can feel every movement like a flame licking against his skin, each brush of Roy’s calloused fingers fanning the fire roaring through him. His body arches into the touch instinctively, craving more, but Roy’s hands stop just shy of where Jason wants them most. The ache is unbearable, a hollow pull that has Jason pressing forward, chasing Roy’s hands.

“Uh-uh,” Roy murmurs, his tone calm and commanding, a velvet steel that makes Jason’s knees weak. “Easy, baby. I’ll take care of you. Just stay with me, yeah?”

Jason’s lips part, but no words come out. He’s too far gone, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of Roy’s hands, Roy’s voice, Roy’s everything. He sways again, his head tipping forward until his forehead brushes Roy’s shoulder, and the scent of him—soap, sweat, and something undeniably Roy—makes Jason’s head spin.

“Jason,” Roy says softly, his voice dipping into something deeper, rougher. His hands slide up to Jason’s sides again, holding him steady. “You still with me, darlin’?”

Jason’s head nods, slow and jerky, but the only sound he can manage is another soft whimper. His body feels like it’s caught in a fever, burning from the inside out, and Roy’s touch is the only thing keeping him tethered. His hands grip Roy’s arms tightly, his nails pressing into skin, and he leans into him, every nerve in his body tuned to Roy’s presence.

Roy chuckles low in his throat, a deep rumble that vibrates through Jason’s chest. “That’s my boy,” he murmurs, his hands stroking Jason’s sides in soothing circles. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetness. So good.”

Jason shudders, the praise sinking into him like a balm, though it does nothing to soothe the molten need coursing through him. His legs feel weak, his head light, and all he can do is hold onto Roy and hope he doesn’t fall apart entirely. Roy’s hands dip lower again, light and teasing, and Jason swears he might actually combust when they stop just short once more. Jason feels his cock throb every time Roy speaks.

“Roy,” Jason breathes, his voice cracking, desperate and pleading.

“Shh, baby,” Roy soothes, pressing a kiss to Jason’s temple. “I’ve got you. I’ll give you everything you need. Just let me take my time, yeah? Ivy gave me a nice lil’ Christmas present, I plan to enjoy every second.”

Jason nods again, his body trembling, and Roy’s hands tighten on him. Every touch, every word is an electric promise, and Jason surrenders to it completely, letting Roy guide him through this chemical ride.

Roy’s hand finally slips lower, his fingers brushing against Jason’s dick, then one tight stroke down– and the reaction is instant. Jason cries out, his body arching as if he’s been struck by lightning. The climax tears through him like a tidal wave, leaving him shuddering and gasping for breath, his nails digging into Roy’s shoulders for anchor. The release is overwhelming, intensified a hundredfold by the pollen coursing through his veins, and it leaves him utterly spent and trembling against Roy.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Roy’s voice breaks through the fog, warm and amused but not unkind. Jason forces his eyes open, his breath hitching as he catches the crooked grin on Roy’s face. “I know I’m hot, baby, but maybe we should cool you off.”

Jason groans, letting his forehead fall against Roy’s chest, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and residual heat. “Shut up,” he mutters, though the words lack any real bite. His legs feel like jelly, and he’s pretty sure he’d collapse entirely if Roy weren’t holding him up.

Roy chuckles, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through Jason’s chest. He reaches past Jason to turn off the water, the sudden silence of the shower making Jason’s uneven breathing seem even louder. The steam swirls around them as Roy grabs a towel and starts drying Jason off with slow, careful movements.

The towel feels incredible against Jason’s hypersensitive skin, the soft fabric dragging over his shoulders, his arms, his chest. Every stroke sends a new ripple of sensation through him, and Jason bites back a whimper, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Roy’s touch is firm but gentle, his hands lingering just long enough to make Jason’s head spin.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Roy murmurs, his voice low and steady. He wraps the towel around Jason’s waist, giving him a reassuring squeeze before guiding him out of the bathroom. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, yeah?”

Jason doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods, letting Roy lead him down the hall to their bedroom. The sheets are soft and cool against Jason’s overheated skin as Roy eases him onto the bed, and Jason exhales shakily, his head falling back against the pillows. But the relief is short-lived.

The moment Roy steps back, Jason’s body takes over, the effects of the pollen driving him to seek friction, sensation, anything. His hips roll against the mattress, slow at first but growing frantic, his body chasing relief in a way he can’t stop. His hands fist the sheets so tightly his knuckles turn white, his nails dragging across the fabric as if he can claw his way through the hot coils of arousal. Each movement sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through him, the friction against the bed only teasing the edge of the ache that consumes him.

A low, guttural sound tears from his throat, more animal than human, and his head tilts back against the pillow, baring his flushed neck. The sheets beneath him feel impossibly soft, every thread a delicate caress against his overheated skin, and it’s driving him wild. His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, his body trembling as a fresh flush spreads across his neck, his collarbones, and down to his chest.

Jason can’t stop himself. He’s hard again, impossibly fast, his arousal insistent and demanding, and he’s utterly helpless to it. His hips buck against the mattress in small, stuttering movements, and the pressure isn’t nearly enough—it’s maddening, a taunt just out of reach. His head thrashes to the side as a choked whimper escapes him, his body writhing against the bed in a desperate, instinctive rhythm.

“Jaybird,” Roy says, his voice soft but firm, cutting through the haze. He sits on the edge of the bed, one hand coming to rest on Jason’s thigh. “Look at me.”

Jason forces his eyes open, though it feels like lifting a mountain. His pupils are so blown the soft green of his irises is nearly swallowed, his gaze unfocused and hazy as it meets Roy’s. His chest heaves with every shallow breath, his lips parted, and his entire body quivers under Roy’s steady hand.

“I’ve got you,” Roy murmurs, his thumb stroking a soothing circle against Jason’s thigh. His voice is calm and steady, an anchor in the chaos. “Just breathe, baby. We’ll get through this together. I’ll make it so good for you.”

Jason nods faintly, his body pliant and trembling under Roy’s touch. Before he can think too much, Roy leans in and kisses him again, and it’s everything. The world narrows to the soft, firm press of Roy’s lips, the slide of his mouth against Jason’s, the faint rasp of stubble that leaves Jason shivering. The kiss is deep and consuming, drawing Jason further into spirals of sensation the pollen pushes through his veins, until all he knows is Roy—his taste, his scent, the way his hands cradle Jason’s face with such care. The way Roy’s tongue licks deep into his mouth, pulling out soft noises from the back of his throat.

Jason doesn’t even notice when Roy’s fingers move lower, trailing over his hip, his thigh, until they press gently against his rim. The feeling pulls a gasp from Jason’s lips, but Roy swallows it easily, his tongue sliding against Jason’s in a way that makes him forget his own name. Roy is so steady, so familiar, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he begins to open Jason up. Jason doesn’t remember Roy reaching for the lube but he must have because every stroke is so deliciously wet.

It’s not just the physical sensation—it’s the way Roy handles him, with a blend of tenderness and familiarity that makes Jason feel like he’s coming undone in the best way. Roy’s callouses drag just so, adding a delicious texture to every movement, every press, and Jason’s body responds instinctively, his hips tilting up, seeking more.

“Sweetness,” Roy murmurs against Jason’s lips, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jason’s spine. “You’re doing so good for me. Just like that, yeah.”

Jason can only whimper in response, his breath catching as Roy’s fingers find just the right spot, pressing in a way that makes his vision blur. The heat building in his body reaches a breaking point, and with a choked cry, Jason comes again, the release tearing through him like a storm. He spurts violently across himself, his cock pulsing in the warm air of their room. His entire body tenses, then shudders, and he clings to Roy.

Roy pulls back just enough to catch Jason’s gaze, his expression soft and amused, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Woah,” he says, his tone light but filled with affection. “I know I’m good, baby, but you’re making me feel like a damn god over here.”

Jason groans, letting his head fall back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “Shh,” he mumbles, though the words lack any real bite. His body is boneless, his skin still tingling, and he can barely muster the energy to glare at Roy.

Roy chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to Jason’s temple, his hands tracing gentle patterns along Jason’s thighs. Jason shifts under him, his hips rolling slightly as the heat lingers, an unspoken plea in every movement, cock already filling out again. Fuck.

“Alright, alright,” Roy murmurs, his voice dropping lower, soothing and commanding all at once. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Jason swallows hard, his pupils blown wide, his lips trembling as he struggles to form words. His body is trembling, wracked with need, the ache unbearable and all-consuming. Finally, his voice breaks through, hoarse and desperate. “More. Please, Roy. I need… I need you.”

Roy’s expression softens, his eyes darkening with intent as he cups Jason’s face. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he asks, his tone low and gentle, a coaxing promise.

Jason whimpers, nodding frantically as he arches up toward Roy. “Yes. God, yes. Please, Roy.”

“That’s my good boy,” Roy murmurs, brushing his thumb over Jason’s cheek. His words are like a balm, grounding Jason even as they send another shiver racing through him. “Just relax for me, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

Roy’s hands move down Jason’s back, firm and demanding, guiding him onto his hands and knees. Jason goes willingly, his breaths coming in shallow pants, his body already trembling in anticipation. The air feels electric, every inch of his skin hypersensitive, every nerve attuned to Roy’s presence.

Roy doesn’t wait long. His grip tightens on Jason’s hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he positions him just right. “That’s it, baby,” Roy murmurs, his voice low and rough, a spark of control that makes Jason shiver. “Knew you’d look so pretty like this.”

Jason lets out a broken whimper, his head dipping forward as Roy presses the thick head of his cock into him, right to the hilt, with no preamble. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, the burn of it sending sparks up Jason’s spine. His fingers clutch at the sheets, his entire body bowing under the force of Roy’s thrusts. It’s rough and unrelenting, every movement pushing him deeper into the fucked out fog until he feels like there’s nothing left of him but Roy—Roy inside him, Roy around him, Roy everywhere.

“Shit, you’re taking me so well,” Roy growls, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that makes Jason’s arms shake. “You love this, don’t you, sweetness? Love being mine.”

Jason’s head tilts back, his mouth falling open as he babbles nonsense, his voice breaking between gasps and moans. “Yes… yes, Roy, please… need you… fuck so deep… PLEASE… need you to fill me up. Shit, I love you I love you I love you. Nobody has ever fucked me like this, c’mon, c’mon, please. Please…” The words tumble out unbidden, spilling over in a flood of desperate need that makes his chest ache.

Roy’s hands slide up Jason’s back, dragging his nails lightly over his spine before curling into his shoulders, pulling him back to meet each thrust. “Oh Jason” Roy murmurs, his voice a molten mix of praise and possession. “Wish you were always this honest.”

Jason’s head feels empty, his thoughts replaced by the relentless rhythm of Roy moving inside him, the heat of his body, the weight of his hands. Everything narrows to this moment, this feeling, and the sheer intensity of it leaves him breathless. His body rocks forward with each snap of Roy’s hips, his cries muffled against the mattress, his knees digging into the sheets as he clings to the edge of control.

Then Roy slows, his thrusts easing to a stop. Jason lets out a frustrated whimper as Roy pulls out, the emptiness immediate and jarring. He clenches involuntarily, his body fluttering and desperate for the fullness Roy had been giving him. He pushes back, almost trying to catch the head of Roy’s cock and draw it back inside. The slick, needy motion doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Look at you,” Roy murmurs, his voice rough and low, as he traces a thumb at the edge of Jason’s fucked-out hole. His other hand tightens on Jason’s hips, steadying him as Jason shudders. “So greedy, baby. Can’t stand to be empty, can you?”

Jason’s only response is a choked moan, his body trembling as he presses back, searching for more. The ache is unbearable, raw and insistent, and every nerve in his body screams for Roy to fill him again. He turns his head, his glassy, wet eyes pleading as he murmurs, “Please… please, please.”

Roy smirks, leaning forward to press a kiss between Jason’s shoulder blades, his breath hot against Jason’s flushed skin. “Alright, Jaybird,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “I’ve got you. Gonna come in you so deep you’ll be tasting it ‘til New Year’s.”

And then he’s back inside, burying himself deep as he can in one smooth, unrelenting thrust, the slide silky and easy with Jason’s body so pliant. Jason’s entire body bows, a broken cry spilling from his lips as the fullness returns, overwhelming and perfect. Roy doesn’t give him time to adjust, setting a punishing rhythm that leaves Jason gasping, his nails clawing at the sheets as he skirts the edge of orgasming again.

“That’s it,” Roy growls, his hands gripping Jason’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. “C’mon baby, ride it out.”

Then Roy’s hand finds Jason’s jaw, strong and sure, tilting his head slightly. Jason barely registers what’s happening before Roy’s fingers press against his lips, slipping into his mouth. Instinct takes over—Jason’s lips close around them greedily, his tongue swirling against the calloused pads, tasting salt and the faint traces of his own sweat. The intimacy of it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in his stomach, his body trembling with the weight of everything Roy is giving him.

Jason sucks on Roy’s fingers like they’re lifelines, his moans muffled and needy as he works his tongue along their length like a cock. The taste, the texture, the sheer presence of Roy in his mouth and inside him makes him feel consumed, like there’s nothing left but this endless, overwhelming connection. His hands clench tighter around the sheets, his hips rocking back against Roy’s thrusts in a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Roy’s voice is deep and rough, cutting through the fog of everything. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. So fucking good for me. Such a perfect fucking slut.” He doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering around Roy’s fingers until Roy shifts slightly, pulling back just enough for Jason to turn his head to meet his eyes, his gaze steady and full of affection.

Jason’s pupils are blown wide, his gaze glassy as he clings to the connection. Every movement, every sound, every stroke of Roy’s fingers against his tongue feels amplified, heightened, and he’s powerless to do anything but fall deeper into it.

When he comes again, it’s like a dam breaking, his entire body locking up before shattering into a million pieces. He cries out, nearly feral, his vision blurring as the pleasure overtakes him. He barely registers Roy’s low groan, the way his grip tightens as he follows, spilling hot and thick into Jason with a heat that sends another shudder through his overstimulated body.

Roy doesn’t let go immediately, his hands softening their grip as he strokes down Jason’s sides, murmuring soothing words Jason can barely hear through the rush of blood in his ears. He presses a kiss to Jason’s shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You did so good, sweetheart. So perfect for me.”

Jason collapses onto the mattress, utterly spent, his body still trembling as Roy wraps him in his arms, grounding him with gentle touches. But the need doesn’t fade. Jason whines, soft and broken, his hips shifting restlessly against the sheets. He’s still hard, the ache relentless, and his mind is too fogged to even understand what he’s begging for.

“Please, Roy,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I… I need…” He trails off, his breath catching on another whimper as his body arches toward Roy.

Roy presses a soothing hand to Jason’s back, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve got you, baby. Just relax for me.” He shifts, moving lower on the bed, his hands sliding down Jason’s trembling sides.

Jason barely has time to process the change before Roy’s mouth is on him. The heat, the wetness, the perfect pull of Roy’s lips around him—it’s immediate and all-encompassing, dragging Jason to the edge in seconds. His fingers twist into the sheets, his head tilting back as a wrecked, breathless moan escapes him.

Roy works him expertly, his tongue tracing patterns that make Jason’s toes curl, his hands gripping Jason’s thighs to keep him steady. Every movement is calculated to drive Jason higher, to push him further into the goopy mind soup of fucked out bliss until there’s nothing left but sensation. Roy is not gentle– he bobs his head, gagging over and over as he all but fucks himself on Jason’s cock down his throat. Drool spills from the sides of his lips adding to the lewd slap of skin on skin. Jason babbles incoherently, his words dissolving into gasps and cries as Roy’s mouth consumes him.

“Fuck, Roy,” Jason chokes out, his hips jerking despite himself. “I—I… please… oh, fuck, please…”

Roy hums around him, the vibration sending Jason spiraling. It’s so much, every nerve in Jason’s body alight with overwhelming pleasure. He’s trembling uncontrollably now, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he teeters on the edge.

When he finally comes, it’s with a sharp, broken cry, his body convulsing before collapsing into the sheets. The release is blinding, leaving him trembling and boneless as Roy pulls back, the aftermath of pleasure painting his face in a messy streak of warmth as Jason comes harder than he thinks he ever has in his life.

Roy sits up, swiping a hand over his cheek with an amused grin. "Well, that’s one way to finish," he says, his tone teasing but filled with affection. Before Jason can even think to feel embarrassed, Roy leans back down, capturing Jason’s lips in a deep, consuming kiss. The taste of himself on Roy’s tongue sends a shiver down Jason’s spine, and he responds eagerly, licking the evidence of his release from Roy’s skin as if it’s the best meal he’s had.

Roy chuckles against Jason’s mouth, his hand threading gently through Jason’s sweat-dampened hair. "You’re something else, you know that?"

Jason’s laugh is soft and a little fuzzy, his body still humming with the remnants of sensation. "You smell like jizz," he murmurs, the words slurred with exhaustion and fondness.

Roy smirks, brushing his thumb over Jason’s temple in a soothing motion. "Whose fault is that?" he replies, his tone warm and teasing.

Jason collapses against the bed, utterly spent and trembling, as Roy wraps him in his arms. He presses a kiss to Jason’s temple, his hand moving in soothing circles over Jason’s back.

Roy lets out a soft chuckle. “So… how are we feeling now, baby?” His voice is warm, the teasing edge tempered by genuine care.

Jason exhales shakily, turning his head to rest against Roy’s chest. “I think…” he pauses, his voice still hoarse, “I think it’s out of my system.”

Roy hums thoughtfully, his fingers moving to stroke through Jason’s damp hair. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Ivy’s got some new tricks up her sleeve, but her old stuff could’ve really wrecked you.”

Jason snorts, the sound muffled against Roy’s skin. “Whatever. This wasn’t nearly as bad as her old stuff.” He would know– getting hit as a horny teenager with nothing but a locked room and nowhere near enough antidote? The chafing. The chafing.

“Sure, sure,” Roy replies, grinning. “You’re just lucky you’ve got a hot-as-hell fiancé to help you through it.”

The room stills.

Jason freezes, his body stiffening slightly against Roy. Slowly, he tilts his head back to meet Roy’s gaze, his eyes wide and incredulous. “Fiancé?” he says, his tone somewhere between a question and an accusation.

Roy’s grin evaporates like mist under a flamethrower. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Then it closes again. Opens. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my God, fuck.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up. A slow, gleeful grin spreads across his face as realization dawns. “Wait a second,” he says, sitting up straighter. “You were going to propose at Christmas, weren’t you?”

“No!” Roy says too quickly, then winces. “I mean—yes? Maybe? Oh, fuck me.” He buries his face in his hands, groaning. “Harper, you’re ruining everything.”

Jason’s grin only grows wider. “Oh my God,” he says, his voice climbing with every word. “You were going to get down on one knee! You were going to do the whole big Christmas proposal thing! That’s so cliché! That’s so corny! Hallmark movie corny!”

Roy snaps up, grabbing the nearest pillow and smacking Jason with it. “I take it back!”

Jason laughs so hard he doubles over, clutching at his stomach. “No!” he gasps, wheezing between hysterical giggles. “That’s no way to treat your future husband! Oh my God, you proposed to me while I’m hopped up on sex pollen! Fuck you!”

Roy throws the pillow at his head, his laughter finally breaking through his embarrassment. “I’m not sorry,” he mutters, though his cheeks are still pink.

Jason catches the pillow and hugs it to his chest, his grin turning smug. “You know,” he says, his voice dripping with fake solemnity, “I think this makes you legally obligated to marry me. Right here. Right now. We can call Alfred, he’s ordained.”

Roy shakes his head, rubbing at his face with both hands. “I can’t believe this is my life,” he mutters, but when he looks down at Jason—flushed, laughing, and utterly delighted—his exasperation softens. “But yeah,” he says, quieter now, leaning down to press a kiss to Jason’s forehead. “You’re mine, idiot. And I’m yours.”

Jason beams up at him, the earlier teasing giving way to something warmer, softer. “Damn right you are.”

–

The Queen home is always so different than what Jason expected. It’s big, sure, but not in the cold, cavernous way Bruce’s is. It feels lived-in, warm, the kind of place where you could actually imagine someone kicking off their boots and putting their feet up on the coffee table. The decorations are simple but thoughtful—strings of white lights winding around the banisters, a tree that looks like it was handpicked from the actual woods, with mismatched ornaments dangling from the branches. Everything smells like cedar and something rich and savory, like a pot of something that’s been simmering for hours.

Jason shrugs out of his jacket, glancing around as voices and laughter drift in from the living room. He feels a little out of place, his boots leaving faint prints on the polished wood floor, but the warmth in the air is enough to keep him from bolting back outside.

“Jason,” Roy says, nudging him with an elbow as he drops their bags by the door. “Stop standing there like a deer in headlights. Come on.”

Before Jason can respond, a familiar voice calls out, “Daddy, look! I made a dress!”

Jason turns just in time to see Lian hurtling toward Roy, arms outstretched, wearing what is unmistakably a holiday shopping bag. It’s cinched at the waist with a belt that’s clearly several sizes too big for her, the bottom of the bag brushing against her knees.

Roy crouches to catch her, laughing as he scoops her up. “Wow, sweetie, look at you! What’s this masterpiece?”

“It’s a dress!” she says, twirling in his arms and holding out the edges like she’s showing off a ball gown. “For Christmas!”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Very haute couture.”

Lian beams at him like he just paid her the biggest compliment in the world, then looks back at Roy. “Do you like it, Jay?”

Roy presses a kiss to her cheek. “Like it? I love it. You’re the best-dressed person here.”

Lian pouts. “I asked Jay!”

Jason smirks, a little smug knowing he’s the superior fashion reviewer. “It looks incredible.”

“Dinah helped me,” Lian says proudly, pointing to where Dinah is standing by the tree, adjusting a string of lights. She looks up, smiling warmly as Roy strides over, Lian still perched on his hip.

“Hey,” Roy says, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks for encouraging my daughter’s... creative side.”

Dinah grins. “She wanted to be festive. Who am I to say no?”

Jason hangs back for a moment, taking it all in. Connor is sitting on the couch, chatting with Mia, while Emiko fusses with a tray of cookies on the coffee table. Ollie is by the fireplace, stirring a pot of what Jason now recognizes as chili. The air smells like spices and home, and for a second, Jason feels like he’s intruding. Like he doesn’t belong here, in this easy warmth.

“Jason,” Dinah calls, her tone light and teasing. “You planning on standing there all night, or are you going to join us?”

He hesitates, then steps forward, shoving his hands into his jeans. “I don’t want to interrupt the Christmas chili cook-off.”

“It’s not a competition,” Ollie says without looking up, though there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because no one’s dumb enough to challenge me.”

Jason snorts, and Roy shoots him a grin. “He’s right, you know. His chili is terrifyingly good.”

“Grab a soda.” Ollie asks, straightening and holding up a ladle. “Or are you more in the mood for something stronger?”

Jason shrugs. “Depends. You got anything worth drinking?”

Ollie gestures to a small sideboard near the tree, where a few bottles of whiskey and wine and soda are lined up. Jason makes his way over, pouring himself a small glass of whiskey and savoring the burn as it hits his throat. The warmth spreads, easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

Roy appears at his side with a cola, Lian now spinning in circles near the tree, showing off her “dress” to Mia. “I think you’d look hot as hell in a trash bag.” Roy says, his voice low and teasing.

Jason raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “My body’s been in enough bags, thanks.”

Ollie straightens, ladle in hand, and carries the pot over to the fire. “The trick is cooking it over an open flame,” he says, in the tone of a man who has been perfecting this monologue for decades. “You get a richer, smokier flavor that you just can’t replicate on a stove. It’s all about the control—you have to let the fire work with you, not against you. That’s where most people mess up—”

“JAY!” Lian interrupts loudly from across the room, her voice piercing through Ollie’s chili sermon. “I LIKE YOUR PRINCESS RING!”

The room freezes. Jason stops mid-sip of his drink. Slowly, all eyes turn to him.

“Princess ring?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What princess ring?” Dinah adds, her grin sharp enough to cut glass.

Jason blinks, lowering his glass and flexing his hand instinctively. There, on his left ring finger, glinting under the warm Christmas lights, is the ring Roy gave him. Shit. He’d gotten used to wearing it after Roy confessed yeah, he had already picked one out.

Roy groans softly, already feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “Okay, so,” he starts, his voice rising nervously. “Funny story—”

“You proposed?” Ollie blurts out, his ladle clattering into the chili pot.

“Wait,” Dinah cuts in, holding up a hand to stop the inevitable chaos. “You proposed, and you didn’t tell us?”

Roy flushes deeper, shifting his weight as his hands go up defensively. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t a big thing! It just sort of… happened. It’s only been a few days!”

Jason, sensing the need for damage control, clears his throat. “Yeah, it was, uh… very unexpected. And really embarrassing.”

Connor tilts his head, considering this. “Was it on the toilet?”

Jason sputters, choking on his whiskey as Roy barks out a startled laugh. “Oh my God,” Roy says, pointing at Connor. “No. Absolutely not.”

“That’s exactly what someone who proposed on the toilet would say,” Mia chimes in, smirking.

Dinah leans back against the couch, crossing her arms. “You two are being suspiciously vague.”

Jason waves a hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a perfectly normal proposal story. Nothing weird or inappropriate at all.”

Ollie steps forward, clapping a heavy hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I approve,” he says with mock seriousness, his expression warm despite the teasing. “Welcome to the family, kiddo.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Thanks? I think.”

Roy shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, damn,” he says with a sigh. “Now I can’t marry him. Old man approves.”

Jason rolls his eyes, elbowing Roy in the side. “Too late, Harper. You’re stuck with me.”

Lian, oblivious to the teasing, claps her hands. “Yay! Princess ring! Daddy wedding!”

As the laughter tapers off and people start to wander back to their conversations, Jason catches Roy’s eye. There’s something steady there, something soft, that Jason feels light the hearth in his chest. Roy smirks, because of course he smirks, the jerk, but there’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones that gives him away.

Jason leans closer, his voice low so only Roy can hear. “You know, babe, you’ve got a lot of nerve proposing to me in the most embarrassing way possible, and then not even properly defending my honor from Connor’s toilet theories.”

Roy huffs out a laugh, leaning just as close, their shoulders brushing. “First of all, it wasn’t embarrassing—it was heartfelt and romantic after a passionate moment.”

“Sure,” Jason deadpans, his lips twitching. “The height of romance. Very swoon-worthy.”

“And second,” Roy continues, ignoring him, “you don’t need me to defend your honor. You’re perfectly capable of terrifying people on your own.”

Jason can’t help it. He grins, letting the moment stretch between them. Around them, the room is still buzzing with life, but it all fades, just for a second. It’s just the two of them, standing in the glow of the tree, with Lian spinning in her shopping bag dress and Ollie muttering about chili, and Jason thinks—God, this is good. This is really, really good.

Roy bumps his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Jason tilts his head, pretending to consider. “How lucky I am to have a fiancé who’s so brave. Proposing to a dead man despite the odds. Pushing through adversity. Sacrificing his dignity.”

Roy groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I regret everything.”

Jason grins wider, sliding his arm around Roy’s waist and pulling him close. “Too late,” he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Roy’s hands drop, his eyes softening as they meet Jason’s. “Good,” he says quietly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “That’s exactly where I want to be.”

Jason doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he leans into Roy, their foreheads briefly touching, before Lian calls out again, demanding their attention.

Before Jason can respond, Ollie’s voice cuts through the moment, loud and proud. “Now who wants my famous Christmas ten-alarm vegan chili?”

The collective groan that follows is immediate and deafening.

“God, Ollie,” Dinah mutters, shaking her head.

“I’m still recovering from last year,” Connor adds, rubbing his stomach like he’s remembering a trauma.

“You’re all cowards,” Ollie declares, holding up the ladle like it’s a battle flag. “This is art.”

Jason snorts, leaning closer to Roy. “Is it really that bad?”

Roy gives him a look—half fond, half don’t say I didn’t warn you. “I’d describe it as an experience. One you won’t forget. Mostly because you’ll still be tasting it next week.”

Jason’s grin widens, his competitive streak flaring. “Please. I grew up eating Alfred’s secret stash of habaneros. He used to sneak them to me when Bruce wasn’t looking. I’ve got an iron stomach.”

Roy raises an eyebrow. “Alfred gave a kid habaneros?”

Jason shrugs, grabbing a bowl from the sideboard as Ollie beams with approval. “He believed in tough love. And proper spice tolerance.”

Dinah laughs from her spot on the couch, shaking her head. “Well, you’ll fit right in, then.”

Jason shoots Roy a sideways glance, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Guess I’m stuck with you and the chili.”

Roy chuckles, leaning into him just enough to brush their shoulders together. “You sure you’re ready for the full Queen family Christmas experience?”

Jason nods, his eyes sparkling as he ladles the chili into his bowl. “More than ready. Bring it on.”

Ollie, clearly delighted, claps Jason on the back with enough force to make him stagger. “Finally, someone who appreciates real flavor!” he says, already turning to serve another bowl.

Jason laughs, settling onto the couch with his bowl as the noise and chaos of the room swirl around him. The chili smells like fire and comfort and home, and for the first time, Jason realizes he actually wants to be right here, in the middle of all of it. Messy, loud, and weird. Accepting.

Exactly where he belongs.